Resinous Tears
by eye
Summary: Treebeard branches out to find love with bad boy eye Sauron
1. Default Chapter

Resinous Tears - Chapter 1  
  
Autumn had fallen. Treebeard's auburn tresses cascaded around his gnarled shoulders, and he muttered softly to himself.  
  
A burning sensation seared through his xylem, right to his woody core, and he was reminded of that magical day when he had first met Lord Sauron..  
  
Their eye had met across the crowded forest, and Sauron had etched his name into Treebeard's rippling trunk. Sap had trickled down his masculine form from the wound, but he thought of it as a mark of undying love.  
  
"Treebeard? Are you alright?"  
  
The grotesquely voluminous form of one Samwise Gamgee tottered into view, clutching a carrot and a sack of dirty spuds.  
  
The pain in Treebeard became more acute, as Sam and the other hobbits were a constant reminder of his betrayal of good for evil. But he always did like a bad boy. He had tried to supress his intense feelings of lust for the All-Seeing-Eye, by dating a number of eligible hardwoods, but nothing worked.  
  
"Ta-ters!" said the 'stupid fat hobbit' as Treebeard's ex Gollum once called him. "Just a moment, little man", Treebeard croaked, and sighed a long, wistful sigh. He knew his love was looking up at the same sky as he, unblinking, and yearning. 


	2. Resinous Tears Chapter 2

Resinous Tears: - Chapter 2  
  
"Tree-beard, it's me, I'm Sauron, I've come hoooome, I'm so co-o-o-ld, let me in-a your woody ho-o-llow!"  
  
Sauron awoke with a start, his eye stinging with tears. The haunting voice of Kate Bush reminded him why he'd enforced the Bush Ban in the first place. Any thought of foliage was too much for his Great Lidlessness to bear.  
  
"Saruman!" he roared to the 2019-year-old beard in the corner, "What have I told you about playing that sappy Babushka crap in the vicinity of my podium?"  
  
"I. I beg your pardon my Lord," Saruman faltered. "I was playing Top Trumps with Wargy the Warg Rider, and I had become so become so engrossed."  
  
Sauron rolled his eye. "Enough! No more excuses!"  
  
"So his Ferocity rating of 45 wasn't an exaggeration, then," Saruman muttered, and told Sauron he would see that the culprit was punished.  
  
As he made his way towards the orc quarters, the sound of raucous singing grew louder. Of course! He remembered, it was Uglúk's 540th birthday.  
  
Tiptoeing towards the Great Hall, he shoved the hobbit-carcass doorstop to one side, and peered into the gloom. The party was in full swing, Grishnákh was leading a conga-line, and weaving his way through kind gifts of Ent blood aftershaves, lucky hobbits' feet keyrings, dwarf-beard scarves and in the corner a huge inflatable Gandalf, on which some Uruk-hai had scribbled a triangle bikini. He wished he'd thought of that.  
  
The stench of hobbit entrails below him was overpowering as he surreptitiously severed the little man's hairy hooves. With his stick he scooped out the insides.  
  
"They'll make a fine pair of slippers! A little on the small side but beggars can't be choosers." He thought bitterly of his docked wages - after all, it hadn't meant to offend Sauron; he'd thought a new dug-out canoe, made from the ancient Fanghornian Ent-wood would have been just the ticket to help him get over that nasty break-up with Gollum.  
  
He was always a player, that one, he thought, pocketing an eye. "I can whip up a rare stir-fry with this visual receptacle, and it would go a treat with some Warg-jerky." Having just purchased a cookery book from the Dunlending Wildmen, (the days of the Wild Library were over, sadly, they were 'Dunlending'), he was keen to try out some of the more gastronomically- challenging recipes.  
  
"Uglúk!" he called, seeing the great slimy brute approach. "Sarumaaaaan! Come inshide have shum cake!" Uglúk slurred.  
  
"I got you something," Saruman said, shyly, proffering the necrotic flesh.  
  
"OOOH! Well come on then, let me shee!"  
  
"I whittled it myself," Saruman said proudly, helping himself to an elf ear canapé.  
  
As Uglúk cooed over his cosy new footwear there came a great fluttering from the door through which Saruman had just passed.  
  
The fluttering of lashes. 


	3. Resinous Tears Chapter 3 The Coming of...

Resinous Tears: - Chapter 3  
  
"Oh, arsing rotisserie hobnails! Skank-eye's rolled free again..." groaned Saruman.  
  
"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!" squealed the optic beard. Skank- eye loved parties. He counted the growth rings of his keratinous eyebrow until the next shindig. (Or at least they would have dug him in the shins, if he had any.)  
  
You see, Skank-eye had always been "special"; ever since the day he was squeezed from Gollum's genital pore, the pseudo ocular larva migrans' dream was to become a lumberjack, "hacking up hunks of wood for a living", as his father put it. Skank-eye was too young to notice the emphasis Sauron placed on the word hunks, but he did recall the drool...  
  
"Son, come see this!" It was the day of the annual Ye Olde Crooked Corneal Careers Fayre and Sauron was up to his eye in pamphlets. "Your great- grandfather was a beautician, you know..." Skank-eye screwed up his eye in disgust. "Daaaad, I'm not spending my Saturdays rouging up gangrenous orcs! I wanna do something more productive, more... um, physical with my time..."  
  
"Okay... what did you have in mind?" Sauron narrowed his eye in concentration. "Saruman has an allotment, you could... weed his turnips?"  
  
"Yawn. Something more... exciting... adventurous... risky!"  
  
"Risqué? There's an orc-brothel back at the house," Sauron said supportively, "and I was speaking to Mrs. Lashley last night, and she said you had definite potential... you could make a real go of it, my boy!"  
  
"I was thinking more about the wood industry..."  
  
Sauron brightened visibly.  
  
"Yeah, like, chucking wood, that kind of thing..."  
  
"fu...oh, chucking wood... what do you mean?!"  
  
"Well dad, it's so cool, you get this massive axe..."  
  
"Is that what you call it these days?" chuckled Sauron.  
  
"...and chuck it right into the tree, slicing its big stupid trunk in half! And then, you use this big chopping machine to skin the bark, and...."  
  
"Enough!! Never! No son of mine...!" Sauron trailed off, turning away. "No son... never!" he mumbled.  
  
Skank-eye was banished. From that day forth, he was sentenced to clearing dead moths from Isengard tower, following Gandalf's infestation. The impressionable young eyelet never saw his father again.  
  
"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!" "Who invited this twerp?" Saruman hissed. Uglúk leapt from the inflatable Gandalf with agility rarely seen in an inebriated leather monster. "I did!" he shrieked, throwing his arms round Skank-eye. Skank-eye smiled and proffered a handful of necrotic moths.  
  
"No thanksh mate, ma belly's fulla elvsies," belched Uglúk, "So, how ya doin' wee man?"  
  
"Well, actually I have news...." Skank-eye whispered darkly. 


End file.
